Lifeblood
by mikachoo
Summary: Funny, that the person I hate most in the world should be the one I can’t live without... Oneshot. Boone's reflections on Shannon. Rated M for explicit adult content and language.


**I decided it was about time I published one of my Shoone stories!! My favourite ship on Lost (I love it even more than Jate!) and I really wanted to post something! I just LOVE the angst in their relationship, it's just so intense! Rated M for explicit adult content and language.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing so that I can empty my over cluttered mind.**

Lifeblood

Funny, that the person I hate most in the world should be the one I can't live without. Funny, that for the same number of times that I've wanted to strangle her, I've wanted to kiss her.

Funny, that I thought she never knew.

All these years, she's been my secret passion. My deepest darkest secret; a secret that I guarded with my life. No one – not even I – knew the extent of my love for her. Except, of course, for her.

Every woman I've ever been with, every time, I've always been wishing – closing my eyes and wishing - that it was her. Every time I've felt their sweet wetness against my mouth, tasted them, I can't help but think of her – think of what she'd taste like against my lips, think of what she'd feel like beneath my hands.

Ever since I was fifteen I've fantasized about her – I would've sold my soul to have one night, just one night with her.

In effect, I did.

That night, I truly sold my soul. She took it, took it in return for my submission, my obedience – my forgiveness. I could've let go, that day, when I'd been angry enough to actually sever the bond between us. But she, of course, was having none of that. She needed me, but not like I needed her. She needed a dog, a mouse that would cower before her in awe and fear and do whatever she wished.

She knew my weakness; she knew that all she needed to do was play on my desire, and once again I would be hers.

FLASHBACK

She tastes better than I had ever imagined. In my wildest dreams I couldn't experience ecstasy such as this. Her moans, her nails clawing at my shoulders – they only spur me on, send me further into heaven.

In response I flick my tongue inside her, feeling myself harden further as she shouts and shudders around me, her thighs gripping my shoulders, her nails drawing blood on my arms. Pain and pleasure, mixed together in a flurry of desire. Her whimpers sound so distant, so faint – and yet, they're all I can hear. For so many years, for so many nights alone and desperate - my hand a poor substitute for her perfection, some blonde not even taking the edge off my desire for her; I have wanted this.

Slow, so slow, so as to tattoo this in my mind forever, I slide my tongue into her as far as I can, feeling her muscles contract around me, feeling her sudden wetness fill my mouth as her orgasm washes over her. And with one word she makes me come, all over the bed, not even close to her yet.

"Boone" she breathes, and yet it is so much more than a breath – it's the very sound of desire, and the one sound that I will never forget.

"Boone" she repeats, softer, and yet so insistent that I barely have time to pull on a condom before my body takes over, shaking from the effort of holding back. Every muscle in my body is quivering, pulling me forward, pulling me onto her and into her until finally she is enclosing me, and I am free…

END OF FLASHBACK

I had never thought of the consequences of fucking my sister. Had I stopped to think for one second, I might have foreseen what would happen. I knew her – I knew her better than I knew myself. I knew she was a cold-hearted bitch, a self-centred cow who's every action was carefully calculated to inflict as much damage as possible, and to reap her satisfaction. I knew that whatever she was doing to me, she wanted to happen – consequence was never coincidence when she was involved. She knew what would happen. So perfectly she had twisted it that she became the victim, and I the villain. I was now the initiator of our dangerous liaison, and for that I had to pay. Because it was I now at fault, she had every right to ignore me, every right to treat me like the dirt beneath her shoe – that was how she justified it in her mind.

I had always admired her cold, cruel façade until I realised it wasn't a guise – my sister truly had no heart.

And it was only later that night, when I was sitting and letting the shame and humiliation wash over me, that I realised this. As she told me what would happen tomorrow, and then the next day and the next, forever denying this one night; I realised that she had planned it – the entire night which I had thought was her coming to me on a whim. It was her version of a quick fix, which she'd used many a time to get her way – spread her legs and fucked her way to redemption.

I can't fathom why I hadn't seen it coming, when I have known her dirty little trick for years. It was always I who snuck out and followed her, smirking and watching her screw the guy who she was about to dump in the back of a car. I thought I was so clever – there was nothing she had up her sleeve that I didn't know about. Except it wasn't any trick of hers that put her in my bed that night – it was stupidity of my own. The cards were all laid out for her; all she had to do was play them.

* * *

The jungle was dark, but not nearly as dark as her eyes; clouded and thick with desire. I undress her hurriedly, and my pants only just come off as we hit the ground, rolling around and around in the dirt.

The familiar moans, and the sensation of her hands across my back have ceased to affect me. This isn't an act of desire – it's an act of revenge. For us both. She's quivering around me, and I wait just a second or two before letting go, waiting to see the desperate twitch around her mouth. It is a small satisfaction, having her need me to give her something; small but none the less pleasing.

She shoves me off her, and before I can look up and see her she is gone. Her clothes have vanished from around me, and all that is left is my pathetic form lying on the ground.

Revenge is sweet. Sweet, like the taste of her; Sweet, like the pleasures she gives me; Sweet, like the knowledge that I'm using her as she used me.

I'm used to that feeling now, the one that swells in my chest in climax. Anger. At the point when she is completely at my mercy, and I at hers, all I can feel is hate for her flowing through me. It sharpens my orgasm, makes this dangerous sex in the jungle the best I've ever had – but it comes at a price. My sister doesn't come cheap.

It's the moments where she's pissed me off that I love her most; and the moments when she is giving me pleasure that I hate her. The way she'll stand there when we fight, as if daring me to shout at her is so childish that she is once again the little girl who used to play with me in the front lawn, before her heart froze over and she knew not how to laugh. And it is when she is in a sweaty heap beneath me that she is not the Shannon I love anymore – she is an ice queen who is too cold and too beautiful for me to ever know.

But I can never move on. She is my lifeblood – I am tied to her. Even to live in her shadow, to live hating her is still to live: there is no other way. Since that first day when I laid eyes on her, my heart ceased to beat for me. It beat for her, and her alone, and no matter what I do, I can't stop that.

* * *

John thinks he can save me. 'Time to let go' he says. Let go… If only he knew how much I've wanted to. If only he knew how long I had tried to detangle myself from her. If only he knew how much of me belonged to her, how much would die if it ever was to be separated from her. He tries too hard - it's tempting, to get lost with someone who's already lost themselves. And lost I am.

He's trying to save my soul – but he forgets that I don't have one.

I sold it to her,

And she'll die before she lets me have it back.


End file.
